ronically, Andy being dead solved one problem we'd had about faking the kidnap-where we could hide you and Catriona without anybody knowing. I hit on the idea of forging a note in Andy's handwriting in case any of his family came by to see why they hadn't heard from him. It wasn't a straight-out suicide note. I didn't want to upset them, so I left it kind of ambiguous. I know that sounds weird, but I'm telling it like it was, not trying to make myself look like the good guy. Like I said, I've done things I'm ashamed of, but I did all of them out of love.

We let some time pass before we set up the kidnap because we didn't want anybody making a connection between me leaving and the kidnap. Also, we wanted to be sure Andy's family had accepted he'd gone away and wouldn't be coming round on the off-chance. I'm ashamed to say I forged a couple of postcards in his writing and went up north to post them after the New Year so they'd stay away from his cottage and not come looking to see if he was back. We needed to make sure we'd be safe there.

On the day we'd agreed, the three of us went off to Andy's with your toys and your clothes and there we stayed until the night of the ransom handover. Toby wasn't around much-he was sorting out the boats. We'd decided to do the handover in a place where we could escape by boat. We'd told Grant not to tell the police, but we weren't sure if he'd stick to that, so we thought we'd leave the police flat-footed if we got away on the water.

At the time, Toby was living on his father's boat, a four-berth cabin cruiser. He knew about boats, and he'd decided we needed to make our getaway in an inflatable with an outboard engine. He knew somebody who had one up in a boathouse in Johnstown. He reckoned nobody would even notice it was missing until May, so that seemed like a good idea. Anyway, the night of the handover came and we set off.

We'd agreed Catriona was going to get the money, then we'd hand you over to her mother. We'd go off with Catriona, then the next day, she'd turn up by some roadside, supposedly having been dumped once the kidnappers knew the ransom was the real thing. Meanwhile I'd give Toby his third share, he'd go his way, and I'd go mine, finding us somewhere to live and work up in the Highlands.

Nothing went like it was supposed to. The place was crawling with armed police, though we didn't realize it. Toby had a gun too, though I didn't realize that either until we got out the boat at the rendezvous. And Grant had a gun. It was a recipe for disaster. And a disaster was what we got.

Even after all this time, thinking about it makes me choke up. Everything was going to plan, but for some reason, Catriona's mum made a big performance about handing the ransom over. Grant lost the place and started waving his gun around. Then Toby turned off the spotlight and the shooting started. Catriona got caught in the crossfire. I had night-vision goggles from the army surplus and I saw her fall just a few yards away from me. I ran to her. She died in my arms. It was all over in seconds. She'd dropped the bag with the ransom when she was shot, and Toby grabbed it. I didn't know what to do. You were back by the boat, in your carry cot. We'd planned to leave you there. But I knew I couldn't leave you, not with your mother dead. I couldn't leave you behind for Grant to bring up in his image. So we ran for the boat. I got a hold of your carry cot and threw it back aboard and we got out of there as fast as we could.

The only thing that went according to plan was what we'd decided to do to avoid anyone using tracking devices to follow us. We put the money in another bag that we'd brought with us and tossed the original over the gunwale. Then I dredged the bag with the diamonds through the sea. We figured the water would knock out any transmitter they might have put in amongst them. It seemed to do the trick, because there was nobody on our tail as we shot down the coast to Dysart where Toby's boat had already been moored for a few days. It was just a few miles, so we got there before the helicopter was in the air. We could hear it and see it from the boat. After it had gone, Toby took the inflatable out of the harbour and sank it off the beach. Then we holed up there till dawn and set off on the morning tide. I was in a state of shock, to tell you the truth. A couple of times, I was on the point of walking to the nearest police station and giving myself up. But Toby held himself together and saved all of us.

It took us a few weeks to get to Italy. We laundered most of the money in automatic cash machines and casinos along the French coast. The lion's share of the ransom was in uncut diamonds, and we hung on to those.

Once we got here, we split up. I left Toby with the boat and I rented a house in the hills outside Lucca for a few months till I decided where I wanted to live. I don't remember much about that time. I was dazed with grief and guilt and the terrible pain of losing Catriona. If it hadn't been for you, I might not have made it through. I still can't believe how it all went so wrong.

I know you probably look at my life and think I had it pretty good. The ransom money bought us the house in Costalpino, and a bit left over that I've got invested. The income from that put the jam on the bread and butter I earned from the painting. I got to spend the rest of my life in a beautiful place, bringing up my son and painting the things I wanted to paint without ever having to worry too much about money.

The only reason you can think I had it pretty good is that you never knew your mother. When she died, she took the light away. You have been the only real light in my life since then, and don't underestimate what a joy it has been for me to spend these years with you. It breaks my heart that I will not live to see what you achieve with the rest of your life. You're a very special person, Adam. I call you that because it is the name we chose together for you.

There's one last thing I want you to do. I want you to make contact with your grandfather. I Googled him last week for the first time: Sir Broderick Maclennan Grant. His friends call him Brodie. He lives in Rotheswell Castle in Fife. His first wife, your grandmother, committed suicide two years after Catriona died. He's got a new wife now, and a son called Alec. So you see, you have a family. You have a grandfather and an uncle who is quite a few years younger than you! Make the most of them, son. You've got a lot of time to make up for, and you're enough of a man now to stand up to a bully like Brodie Grant.

So now you know it all. Blame me or forgive me, it's up to you. But never doubt that you were conceived and born in love, and that you have been loved every single day of your life. Take care of yourself, Adam.

All my love,

Your father, Mick the miner

Gabriel dropped the last sheet on top of the others. He went back to the first page and read it all again, aware that Matthias had come back in at some point. It was like reading the synopsis of a movie. Impossible to connect to his life. Too absurd to be true. He felt as if the foundations of his life had been removed, leaving him hanging in the air like a cartoon character holding his breath for the inevitable catastrophic fall. "Does Ursula know all this?" he said, knowing it wasn't that important a question, but wanting to know the answer anyway.

"Some of it." Matthias sat down heavily opposite Gabriel, another bottle of wine in his hand. "She doesn't know who your mother was, or all of Daniel's story. She knows he set up a fake kidnap because he wanted to be with you and your mother. But she doesn't know about the shoot-out at the OK Corral."

The flippancy of Matthias's description of his mother's death gave Gabriel a jolt. Toby had a gun too. He gave a half-hearted snort of derision. "All these years, I thought I was living among a bunch of old hippies with a load of outdated leftie ideals. And it turns out you lot are actually a bunch of criminals on the run after the worst kind of capitalist crime." He knew there were more important things to talk about, but he had to work his way round to them, like a dog faced with a hot dinner who starts off nibbling at the edges because that's all he can cope with. Toby had a gun too.

"You're looking at it all wrong, Gabe, my man," Matthias said, fingers busy with another joint. "Think of us as latter-day Robin Hoods. Robbing the seriously rich to spread the money round more fairly."

"You and my dad living the life of Riley, doing exactly what you want-how exactly does that further the fight against international capitalism?" Gabriel didn't even try to keep the sneer from his face or his voice. "If my grandfather had been supportive of my mother's art, none of this would have happened. Don't tell me you all did this for some higher purpose. You did it because you wanted your own way and you saw how you could make somebody else pay for it." He waved the joint away impatiently. He didn't want to lose any of the shreds of clarity left to him.

"Hey now, Gabe, don't be rushing to judgement on us."

"Why not? Isn't that what the Gesualdo is all about? It's like the last thing he did was invite me to judge him. Should I see him as a killer or as a man redeemed by his painting? Or redeemed by loving me and bringing me up the best he could?" Gabriel scrabbled through the letter, looking for the last page. "Here it is, in his own hand: 'Blame me or forgive me, it's up to you.' He wanted me to make up my own mind about what you did." The heat of anger was spreading through him, filling him up and making it harder to be reasonable. Toby had a gun too.

"And you should forgive him," Matthias said. "You doubt our motives, but I tell you, all he wanted was to make a life with you and Cat. Circumstances were against them. We just tried to redress the balance, that's all, Gabe."

His easy complacency was like a goad to Gabriel. "And when did that give you the right to make my choices for me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Daniel, you chose what I got to know about who I am and when I got to know it. You kept me away from my family. You lied about my history, made me think all I had was Daniel and you and Ursula. You took away my chance of growing up knowing my grandfather. My grandmother might still be alive if she'd had me with her."

Matthias blew out a plume of smoke. "Gabe, there was no going back for us. You think growing up under Brodie Grant's thumb would have been better than the life you've had?" He snorted derisively. "You wouldn't say that if you had any idea how tough he made Cat's life." He got up and fetched a block of dope and a sharp knife to cut off a fresh slice.

"But I don't, do I? Because I never got the chance to find out, thanks to you two and the choices you made for me." Gabriel slammed the flat of his hand down on the table. "Well, I'm going to make up for lost time. I'm going back to Scotland. I'm going to find my grandfather and get to know him for myself. Maybe he's the ogre you and Daniel make him out to be. Or maybe he's just someone who wanted the best for his daughter. And judging by this"-he batted the letter, making the papers flutter in the dim light-"he wasn't so far off the mark, was he? I mean, my dad wasn't exactly a model citizen, was he?"

Matthias dropped the knife and stared at Gabriel. "I don't think going back is that great an idea."

"Why not? It's time I got to know my family, don't you think?"

"That's not the issue."

"Well, what is?"

Matthias made a small helpless gesture with his hands. "They're going to want to know where you've been for the last twenty-odd years. And that's kind of a problem for me."

"What's it got to do with you?"

"Think about it, Gabe. There's no statute of limitations for murder or kidnap. They're going to come after me and put me away for the rest of my life."

Toby had a gun too. "I won't tell them anything that implicates you," Gabriel said, contempt in the curl of his mouth. "You don't have to worry about your own skin. I'll take care of that."

Matthias laughed. "You really have no fucking idea who your grandfather is. You think you can just refuse Brodie Grant? He'll chase down your history, he'll backtrack and find out every move you've made all these years. He won't stop till he's nailed me to a fucking cross. This isn't just about you."

"This is my life." They were both shouting now, outrage and fear stoking the paranoia of dope and the abandon of alcohol. "If he gets me back, why the hell would my grandfather care about you?"

"Because he'll never give up the chance for revenge so he doesn't have to take responsibility."

"Responsibility? Responsibility for what?"

"For killing Cat." Even as he spoke, Matthias's face stretched in horror. He knew the enormity of what he'd said as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief. "You're crazy. You're saying my grandfather shot his own daughter?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I don't think he meant-"

Gabriel jumped to his feet, sending the chair crashing to the floor. "I can't believe-You lying piece of-You'd say anything," he shouted incoherently. "You brought a gun. You're the one who shot her, aren't you? That's what really happened. Not my grandfather. You. That's why you don't want me to go back, because you'll finally have to face what you did."

Matthias stood up, walking round the table towards Gabriel, hands outstretched. "You've got it so wrong," he said. "Please, Gabe."

Gabriel's face was a mask of rage and shock. He reached down for the knife on the table and rushed Matthias. Nothing in his mind but anger and pain, nothing as coherent as intent. But the result was as incontrovertible as if it had been the result of a meticulous plan. Matthias crumpled and fell backwards, a dark red blemish quickly spreading to a stain across the front of his T-shirt. Gabriel stood above him, panting and sobbing, not caring to make any effort to staunch the blood. Toby had a gun too.

Matthias clutched at his failing heart as it slowly ran out of blood to pump round his body. His heaving chest gradually subsided till it grew motionless. Gabriel had no idea how long it took Matthias to die, only that, by the end, his legs were so tired they could scarcely hold him up. He slumped to the floor where he stood, just beyond the margin of the slowly congealing pool of blood that had spread beyond Matthias's body.

Time drifted past. Finally, what roused him was footsteps and lively chatter approaching along the loggia. Max and Luka swaggered in, full of the success of the evening's performance. When they saw the gory tableau in front of them, they stopped short. Max cursed, Luka crossed himself. Then Rado walked in with Ursula. She caught sight of Matthias and opened her mouth in a soundless scream, falling to her knees and crawling towards him.

"He killed my mother," Gabriel said, his voice flat and cold.

Ursula swung her head round to him, her lips curled back in a snarl. "You killed him?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "He killed my mother."

Ursula whimpered. "No. No, it's not true. He couldn't hurt a fly." She stretched out her hand tentatively, her fingertips brushing Matthias's dead hand.

"He had a gun. It's in the letter. Daniel left me a letter."

"What the fuck are we going to do?" Max yelped, breaking the macabre intimacy between them. "We can't call the cops."

"He's right," Rado said. "They'll pin it on one of us. One of the illegals, not the painter's son."

Ursula pressed her hands to her face, fingers splayed, as if she was going to claw her features apart. Her body heaved in a spasm of dry retching. Then somehow she visibly drew her strength together. Her face smeared with Matthias's blood like a terrible parody of night camouflage, she launched herself at Gabriel with a harrowing scream.

Max and Luka instinctively threw themselves between her and Gabriel, dragging her back, keeping her clawing fingers from his eyes. Panting, she spat on the floor. "We loved you like a son," she wailed. Then something in German that sounded like a curse.

"He killed my mother," Gabriel insisted. "Did you know that?"

"I wish he'd killed you," she screamed.

"Get her out of here," Rado shouted.

Max and Luka hauled her to her feet and half-carried her towards the door. "Pray I never see you again," Ursula screamed as she disappeared.

Rado crouched beside Gabriel. "What happened, man?"

"My dad left me a letter." He shook his head, dazed with shock and drink. "It's all over now, isn't it? He killed my mother, but I'm the one who's going to jail."

"Fuck, no," Rado said. "No way is Ursula going to the cops. It goes against everything she believes in." He put his arm round Gabriel. "Besides, we can't let her drag us all into this shit. No way I'm going back where I came from. Matthias is dead, there's nothing we can do to help him. No need to make things worse."

"She's not going to let me get away with this," Gabriel said, leaning into Rado. "You heard her. She's going to want to hurt me."

"We'll help her," Rado said. "We love you, man. And eventually she'll remember she does too."

Gabriel dropped his head into his hands and let the tears come. "What am I going to do?" he wailed.

Once his sobbing had subsided, Rado pulled him to his feet. "I hate to sound like a cold-hearted bastard, but the first thing you need to do is help me get rid of Matthias's body."

"What?"

Rado spread his hands. "No body, no murder. Even if we can't keep Ursula away from the cops, they're not going to sweat it if there's no body."

"You want me to help you bury him?" Gabriel sounded faint, as if this was one step more than he could manage.

"Bury him? No. Buried bodies have a way of turning up. We're going to carry him down to the field. Maurizio's pigs will eat anything."

By morning, Gabriel knew Rado had been right.

Thursday, 5th July 2007; Celadoria, near Greve in Chianti

Remembering that night now, Gabriel felt as though Bel Richmond was hollowing his stomach out with a spoon. Losing his father had been bad enough. But Daniel's letter and what it had led to had been devastating. It was as if his life was a piece of fabric that had been ripped from top to bottom and tossed in a heap. If the letter had plummeted him into a state of turmoil, killing Matthias had made matters infinitely worse. His father had not been the man he thought he was. His lies had poisoned so much. But Gabriel himself was worse than a liar. He was a killer. He'd committed an act that he would never have believed himself capable of. With such fundamental elements of his life exposed as a fantasy, how could he cling to any of it with confidence?

He'd grown up thinking his mother was an art teacher called Catherine. That she'd died giving birth to him. Gabriel had struggled with that guilt for as long as he could remember. He'd seen his father's isolation and sadness and had shouldered the blame for that too. He'd grown up carrying a weight that was completely bogus.

He didn't know who he was any more. His history had been just a story, made up to protect Daniel and Matthias from the consequences of the terrible thing they'd been part of. For their sake, he'd been wrenched out of the country where he belonged and brought up on alien soil. Who knew what his life would have been if he'd grown up in Scotland instead of Italy? He felt cast adrift, rootless and deliberately cheated out of his birthright.

His torment was made worse by constant fear, shivering behind him like the backdrop in a puppet booth. Every time he heard the sound of a car, he was on his feet, back to the wall, convinced that this time it was the carabinieri come for him at Ursula's insistence. He'd tried to cover his tracks, but he didn't have his father's experience, and he was afraid he hadn't succeeded.

But time had crawled past and after a few weeks of being holed up like a sick animal, he had started to put himself back together. Gradually, he'd managed to find a way to distance the guilt, telling himself Matthias had lived free and clear for over twenty years, never paying a penny of the debt that was owed for Catriona's death. All Gabriel had done was force him to make amends for the life he'd stolen from all of them-Catriona, Daniel, and Gabriel himself. It wasn't entirely satisfactory from the perspective of the morality Daniel had instilled in him, but holding fast to this conviction made it possible for Gabriel to attempt to move forward, accommodating his remorse and assimilating his pain.

One overwhelming imperative drove him forward. He wanted to find the family that was his by rights, the clan he'd always craved, the tribe he belonged to. He wanted the home he'd been denied, a land where people looked like him rather than escapees from medieval paintings. But he'd known he wasn't ready yet. He had to get his head straight before he attempted to take on Sir Broderick Maclennan Grant. The little he had been able to glean from his father's letter, from Matthias, and from the Internet had left him certain that Grant would not give any claimant an easy time. Gabriel knew he needed to be able to hold his own and to keep his story straight in case that terrible April night ever came back to haunt him.

And now it looked as if it had. Fucking Bel Richmond with her digging and her determination was going to destroy the one hope he'd been clinging to for the past weeks. She knew she was on to something. Gabriel hadn't had much to do with the media, but he knew enough to realize that now she had the threads of her story, she wouldn't give up till she had nailed him. And when she published her scoop, any hope he had of making a new life with his mother's family would be dead in the water. Brodie Grant wouldn't be happy to embrace a murderer. Gabriel couldn't let it happen. He couldn't lose everything for a second time. It wasn't fair. It so wasn't fair.

Somehow, he remained composed, meeting her long, level stare. He had to find out exactly what she knew. "What do you think happened?" he said, a sneer on his face. "Or should I say, what are you planning to tell the world happened?"

"I think you killed Matthias. I don't know whether you planned it or it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. But, like I said, there's a witness who can put you two together earlier that day. The only reason he hasn't told the police is that he doesn't understand the significance of what he saw. Of course, if I was to explain that to him... Well, it's not rocket science, is it, Adam? It took me three days to find you. I know the carabinieri have a reputation for being a bit slow on the uptake, so it might take them a bit longer. Time enough to get yourself under the protective wing of your grandfather, I'd have thought. Oh, but he's not your grandfather, is he? That's just my little fantasy."

"You can't prove any of this," he said. He poured the last of the wine into her glass, then went over to the wine rack to fetch another. He felt cornered. He'd come through a terrible ordeal. And now this fucking woman was going to steal the one hope that had held him together. His challenge was his way of giving her a chance to prevent his having to do whatever it took to stop her.

He glanced over his shoulder. Bel wasn't really paying attention to him now; she was absorbed in the chase, focused on turning the interview in the direction she sought. Absently, she said, "There are ways. And I know all of them."

He'd given her the chance and she'd deflected it. His past was corrupt beyond redemption. All he had left was the future. He couldn't let her take that from him. "I don't think so," he said, coming up behind her.

At the last minute, some primitive warning signal hit her brain and she swung round just in time to catch a flash of the blade as it headed unwaveringly for her.

Kirkcaldy

After Phil had made the first move, things had progressed at breakneck speed. Clothes stripped. Skin to feverish skin. Him on top. Her on top. Then to the bedroom. Face down, his hands cupping her breasts, her hands clinging to the struts of the bed-head. When they finally needed to pause for a second wind, they lay on their sides, grinning stupidly at each other.

"Whatever happened to foreplay?" Karen said, a giggle in her voice.

"That's what working together all these years has been," Phil said. "Foreplay. You getting me all het up. Your mind's as sexy as your body, you know that?"

She slid a hand down between them and let her fingertips caress the soft skin below his belly button. "I have wanted to do this for so long."

"Me too. But I really didn't want to fuck things up between us at work. We're a good team. I didn't want to chance spoiling that. We both love our work too much to risk it. Plus it's against the rules."

"So what's changed?" Karen said, a hollow feeling in her stomach.

"There's an inspector's job coming up in Dunfermline and I've been told unofficially that it's mine for the asking."

Karen pulled away, leaning on one elbow. "You're leaving CCRT?"

He sighed. "I've got to. I need to move up and there's not room for another inspector in the CCRT. Besides, this way I get to have you too." His face screwed up in anxiety. "If that's what you want. Obviously."

She knew how much he loved working cold cases. She also knew he was ambitious. After she'd blocked his career path with her promotion, she'd expected him to go sooner or later. What she hadn't bargained for was that she might figure in his calculations. "It's the right move for you," she said. "Better get out quick before the Macaroon realizes he should hate you as much as he hates me. I'll miss working with you, though."

He wriggled close to her, gently rubbing the palms of his hands against her nipples. "There will be compensations," he said.

She let her hand drift downwards. "Apparently," she said. "But it's going to take a lot to make it up to me."

Boscolata, Tuscany

Carabiniere Nico Gallo crushed the cigarette under the heel of his highly polished boot and pushed himself off the olive tree he was leaning against. He brushed off the back of his shirt and his tightly fitting breeches and set off again along the path that bordered Boscolata's olive grove.

He was fed up. Hundreds of miles from his home in Calabria, living in a barracks only marginally better than a fisherman's shack, and still getting the shitty end of every assignment, he could hardly get through a day without regretting choosing a career in the carabinieri. His grandfather, who had encouraged him in his choice, had told him how women fell for men in uniform. That might have been the case in the old man's day, but it was the polar opposite now. All the women his age he seemed to meet were feminists, environmentalists, or anarchists. To them, his uniform was a provocation of a very different kind.

And to him, Boscolata was just another hippy commune inhabited by people with no respect for society. He bet they didn't pay their taxes. And he bet that the killer who had claimed the unknown victim at the Villa Totti wasn't far from where he was walking now. It was a waste of time, having a night patrol out here. If the killer had wanted to cover his tracks, he'd had months to do it. And even now, Nico reckoned everybody in Boscolata knew how to get inside the ruined villa without his having a clue they were in there. If this were his village back in the south, that's exactly how it would be.

Another round of the olive grove and he was going back to his car for a cup from the flask of espresso he'd thoughtfully brought with him. These were the milestones that made it possible to stay awake and alert: coffee, cigarettes, and chewing gum. When he got to the corner closest to the Villa Totti, he could have another cigarette.

As the sound of his match died away, Gallo realized there was another noise on the night air. This far up the hill, the night was silent but for the crickets, the odd night bird, and the occasional dog barking. But now the silence had been invaded by the straining sound of an engine climbing the steep dirt road to Boscolata and beyond. But curiously, it wasn't matched with the brilliance of headlights on full beam. He could make out pale glimmers through the trees and hedgerows, as if the vehicle was travelling on sidelights. Only one reason for that, in his books. The driver was up to something he didn't want to draw attention to.

Gallo glanced ruefully at his cigarette. He'd made sure he had enough for the night's duty, but that didn't mean he wanted to waste one. So he cupped it in his hand and moved closer to the villa to cut off anyone attempting to enter the crime scene.

It soon became clear he'd made the wrong choice. Instead of heading towards Boscolata and the villa, the lights swerved off to the right at the far end of the olive trees. Cursing, Gallo took a last drag on his cigarette, then started down the side of the grove as quickly and as quietly as he could.

He could just about make out the shape of a small hatchback. It stopped at the end of the trees, where the Totti property butted up against the substantial acreage farmed by the guy with the pigs. Maurizio, wasn't that the old man's name? Something like that. Gallo, about twenty metres away, edged closer, trying not to make a sound.

The car's interior light came on as the driver's door swung open. Gallo saw a tallish guy wearing dark sweats and a baseball cap get out and open the tailgate. He seemed to be dragging out a rolled-up carpet or something similar, bending down to get his back underneath to take the weight. As he straightened up, staggering a little under the weight of his burden and approaching the sturdy wire fence that kept the pigs penned in, Gallo realized with a horrible lurch of his stomach that this wasn't an instance of midnight trash-dumping but something much more serious. The evil fucker was about to feed a body to the pigs. Everyone knew pigs would eat bloody anything and everything. And this was indisputably a body.

He grabbed his flashlight and turned it on. "Police! Freeze!" he shouted in the most melodramatic style he could muster. The man stumbled, tripped, and fell forward, his burden landing athwart the fence. He regained his feet and raced back to the car, reaching it seconds before Gallo. He jumped in and started the engine, throwing it into reverse just as Gallo hurled himself at the hood. The carabiniere tried to hang on, but the car was speeding backwards towards the track, jouncing and jittering every metre of the way, and he finally slid off in an ignominious heap as the car disappeared into the night.

"Oh God," he groaned, rolling over so he could reach his radio. "Control? This is Gallo, on guard at the Villa Totti."

"Roger that, Gallo. What's your ten?"

"Control, I don't know the ten-code for this. But some guy just tried to dump a body in a pig field."

Friday, 6th July 2007; Kirkcaldy

The phone penetrated Karen's light sleep on the first ring. Dazed and disorientated, she groped for it, thrilled into full consciousness by the mumble of "Phone," next to her ear. He was still here. No hit and run. He was still here. She grabbed the phone, forcing sticky eyelids apart. The clock read 05:47. She was CCRT. She didn't get calls at this time of the morning any more. "DI Pirie," she grunted.

"Morning, DI Pirie," a disgustingly bright voice said. "This is Linda from Force Control. I've just had a Capitano di Stefano on from the carabinieri in Siena. I wouldn't usually have woken you, but he said it was urgent."

"It's OK, Linda," Karen said, rolling away from Phil and trying to get her head into work mode. What the hell could be quarter-tosix-in-the-morning urgent on a three-month-old maybe murder? "Fire away."

"There's not much to fire, Inspector. He said to tell you he's e-mailed you a photo to see if you can ID it. And it's urgent. He said it three times, so I think he meant it."

"I'll get right on to it. Thanks, Linda." She replaced the phone and Phil immediately pulled her to him with a different kind of urgency.

She squirmed round, trying to free herself from his grip. "I need to get up," she protested.

"So do I." He covered her mouth with his and started kissing her.

Karen pulled away, gasping. "Can you do quickies?"